Wild  Geese 


THEODORE  H.  BANKS,  JR. 


NEW  HAVEN  •  YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

LONDON    •   HUMPHREY   MILFORD   •   OXFORD    UNIVERSITY   PRESS 

MDCCCCXXI 


COPYRIGHT,    1921,    BY 
YALE    UNIVERSITY    PRESS 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS. 

GRATEFUL    acknowledgments    are    made    to    Everybody's 
Magazine  for  permission  to  reprint  poems   included  in 
this  volume. 


445005 


TO  MY  MOTHER. 

THINE  is  the  beauty  of  the  summer  stars 
Gathered  within  a  fern-fringed  pool, 
When  not  a  ripple  mars 
Its  surface  cool. 

Thou  art  as  fragrant  as  the  peach-tree's  bloom, 
Bending  beneath  so  rich  a  store 
That  there  is  hardly  room 
For  one  bud  more. 

Thy  grace  is  as  the  grace  of  ripening  wheat 
That  to  the  wind's  soft  wooing  yields, 
Sending  the  shadows  fleet 
Across  the  fields. 

The  glint  of  sunny  waters  is  thy  smile. 
Thy  laughter  brings  as  dear  delight 
As  birds'  clear  singing  while 
The  dawn  grows  bright. 

Thou  couldst  not  but  be  fair,  for  thy  pure  soul 
Transfigures  thee  with  an  excess 
Of  light,  an  aureole 
Of  holiness. 

Yet  thou  art  not  a  pale  and  pensive  saint 
Dreaming  thy  cloistered  life  away, 
Despising  the  restraint 
Of  this  dull  clay. 

7 


Nay,, -rather  dost  iWu  glory  in  thy  flesh, 
Wearing  it  proudly  as  a  queen, 
'far-  ;tj's  a.  g-artiient  fresh 
And  bright  and  clean. 

Nor  dost  thou  like  a  bee  suck  only  sweet, 
Or  dwell  in  selfishness  apart, 
Not  knowing  weary  feet 
Or  aching  heart. 

Thou  seekest  sorrow  with  grave,  tender  eyes 
And  gentle  touch  that  soothes  and  heals. 
All  human  miseries 
Thy  spirit  feels. 

As  radiant  as  a  star,  yet  not  remote, 
Clothed  with  its  splendor,  not  its  snow, 
When  it  gleams  keen-rayed,  afloat 
In  the  sunset  glow, 

Thou  hast  no  setting;  for  when  thou  dost  pass 
Beyond  our  mortal  vision,  dead, 
Thou  wilt  make  bright  the  grass 
Where  angels  tread. 


CONTENTS. 

PART  I.  LYRICS. 

Wild  Geese 13 

The  Return 14 

The  Tokens 15 

The  Awakening  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  16 

The  Mogi  Road 17 

"As  I  Sat  Dreaming"   ....  18 

Prayer         ........  19 

November  .......  2O 

"A  Sea-Change" 21 

Tempest      ........  22 

PART  II.  SONNETS. 

In  Memoriam.  W.  H.  Branham: 

1 25 

II 25 

III 26 

IV.  ...  26 

To  Buckner  Pearson  Sholl     .....  27 

Beyond        ........  28 

The  Heritage       .......  29 

Victory        ........  30 

Autumn      .  .  ..          .  .  .  .          .31 

To  Death  : 

1 32 

II 32 

HI-  33 

PART  III.  THE  VIGIL       ......  37 

PART  IV.  THE  FOUR  WINDS. 

Summer      ........  47 

Autumn      .  .  .  .  .  .          .  .48 

Winter        ........  50 

Spring  52 

PART  V.  THE  ALTAR  CANDLE     .....  56 


PART  I. 
LYRICS. 


WILD  GEESE. 

WILD  geese  are  flying,  crying,  flying, 
Sweeping  over  rice  fields,  swift  across  the  sun, 
Black  against  the  west  where  the  day  is  dying, 
Winging  to  the  northward  till  the  day  is  done. 

Wild  geese  are  calling,  falling,  calling, 
Swirling  down  clamorous  among  the  tasselled  reeds, 
Settling  in  the  rushes  where  the  yellow  river's  crawling, 
Sinking  into  silence  as  the  night  succeeds. 

Wild  geese  are  springing,  winging,  springing, 
Rising  from  the  rushes,  for  the  dawn  is  nigh, 
Flying  to  the  northward  their  wild  cry  ringing, 
•Mounting  like  a  matin-song  beneath  the  flushing  sky. 


THE  RETURN. 

WHEN  I  return,  let  us  be  very  still ; 
One  searching,  passionate,  soul-sufficing  glance, 
And  a  deep  silence.  Mirth  would  become  us  ill, 
Because  of  the  unnumbered  graves  of  France, 
Where  love  lies  buried  on  each  trampled  hill. 


THE  TOKENS. 

I    KNOW  by  these  that  she  cannot  have  died : 
The  woodland  quiet,  the  sparkle  of  the  sea, 
The  flutter  of  leaves,  the  flooding  of  the  tide, 
Earth's  lure  and  loveliness  and  mystery; 
For  all  these  things  she  loved,  and  these  abide. 

Nor  is  her  spirit,  clad  in  gentleness, 
Courage  and  courtliness  and  ancient  grace, 
Less  than  the  beauty  of  the  stars,  or  less 
Than  fading  light  that  touched  her  tender  face, 
The  twilight  calm,  or  the  low  wind's  caress. 

The  dark  pine  woods,  secluded  and  secure 
Against  the  world,  the  majesty  that  moved 
On  the  tempestuous  ocean,  and  the  pure, 
Pale  light  of  dawning:  all  these  that  she  loved 
Were  transient,  earthly  things ;  and  these  endure. 


THE  AWAKENING. 

WHEN  I  shall  wake  from  life,  and  in  surprise 
Behold  the  brilliance  of  more  spacious  skies 
Whose  splendor  is  yet  terrible  and  strange, 
Then  will  you  come  with  welcome  in  your  eyes. 

Then  will  you  fold  me  close  in  tender  arms, 

And  with  your  cherishing  touch  that  heals  and  charms 

Lull  me  as  in  the  golden  days  of  earth, 

Shield  me  from  fear  of  unknown,  heavenly  harms. 

Then  will  the  music  of  your  speaking  fill 
The  solitude  to  comfort  me,  and  thrill 
My  soul  with  sense  of  old  companionship, 
Waking  loved  echoes  that  have  long  been  still. 

Then  will  your  yearning  bosom  bend  to  mine, 
Your  heart  beat  to  my  heart,  your  clear  eyes  shine 
With  light  will  make  the  heaven  seem  friendly  earth, 
The  loving  light  that  once  made  earth  divine. 

Then  will  your  soul,  dauntless  and  undismayed, 
Lead  me  among  the  wonders,  wide  displayed, 
Till  paradise  will  seem  almost  as  sweet 
As  that  wild,  woodland  path  where  once  we  strayed. 


16 


THE  MOGI  ROAD. 

AGLOW  of  lanterns  on  the  tall  bamboo, 
Slender,  tapering,  smooth  and  green, 
The  branches  like  a  feathery  screen 
Against  uncertain  stars  that  glimmer  through; 

The  fields  seen  dimly  in  the  lantern  glow ; 
And  through  the  darkness  redolent 
Low,  haunting  flute  notes  that  lament 
The  love  and  the  romance  of  long  ago. 


"AS  I  SAT  DREAMING." 

A  I  sat  dreaming  in  my  room 
The  shadows  gathered  and  the  gloom; 
There  was  no  sound  except  the  rain 
That  tapped  against  the  window-pane, 
Like  to  a  phantom  lonely  there 
In  rising  wind  and  darkening  air. 
I  did  not  heed  the  night,  nor  hear 
The  tapping  of  those  hands  of  fear ; 
My  spirit  walked  in  splendor,  far 
Beyond  the  bound  of  sun  or  star, 
Treading  where  every  poet  trod 
Since  the  first  song  rose  up  to  God ; 
Saw  for  a  golden  moment's  space 
Eternal  beauty's  matchless  face ; 
Heard  for  an  instant,  clear  and  strong, 
The  marvel  of  immortal  song. 
And  so  I  did  not  know  the  rain 
Was  beating  on  the  window-pane. 


18 


PRAYER. 

RCHLY  the  tapers  glimmer,  and  their  gold 
Floods  all  the  chapel :  sculptured  altar  screen, 
The  high,  oak  pews  with  carven  ornament, 
The  deep-resounding  organ,  in  whose  pipes 
Glitter  a  thousand  candles,  and  the  altar, 
Pure  and  unveined  marble.  There  the  blaze 
Is  brightest,  and  the  golden  crucifix 
Burns  like  a  flame ;  and  there  you  stand,  white-robed, 
While  at  your  feet  the  choir  chants,  silver-tongued, 
And  the  great  organ  throbs  in  ecstasy. 
And  when  the  last  amen  has  died  away 
Among  the  shadows  of  the  vaulted  roof, 
Humbly  you  kneel  and  offer  up  your  prayer. 

But  I  in  silence  walk  beneath  the  stars. 


NOVEMBER. 

THE  long,  bare  beach  and  the  ebbing  tide, 
The  creeping  fog  on  the  face  of  the  sea ; 
And  all  my  dreams  that  the  world  denied 
Rising  to  mock  my  misery. 

The  water  winding  across  the  sand, 
The  low  waves  lapping  upon  the  shore ; 
And  fires  that  have  left  but  a  blackened  brand, 
And  hopes  that  my  heart  shall  hold  no  more. 

The  dull  clouds  driving  across  the  sky, 
Heavy  with  threat  of  the  hissing  rain ; 
And  the  lilt  of  laughter,  long  gone  by, 
Of  lips  that  shall  never  smile  again. 

The  sea  wind  sweeping,  wet  and  cold, 
A  flurry  of  sea  birds  fleeting  past; 
And  desire  for  the  day  that  pain  is  old 
And  rest  is  come  at  last. 


20 


"A  SEA-CHANGE." 

THE  snow  falls  silently,  and  brings 
New  loveliness  to  common  things, 
And  gives  to  every  ugly  place 
Still  forms  of  beauty  and  of  grace, 
Making  the  busy,  bustling  street 
A  solitude  where  phantoms  meet 
And  dimly  pass  on  muffled  feet. 

And  could  I  to  like  beauty  turn 

The  passions  that  within  us  burn, 

The  grief,  the  weariness,  the  strife, 

The  tumult  of  our  daily  life, 

Then  in  a  hushed  world  you  would  see 

How  strangely  altered  we  should  be, 

How  clothed  in  lasting  mystery. 


21 


TEMPEST. 

SAVAGE  the  sea  leaped  high ;  on  the  rocks  plunged  ponder 
ous  breakers, 
Hoary  with  streaking  of  spray ;  and  the  surges  with  foam  swift 

flying 
Moaned  by  the  bases  of  sheer  cliffs,  smitten  and  shaken  with 

tumult, 

Furious  sprang  at  the  land,  and  rebounded  in  wildest  confusion, 
Twisted  and  tossed  in  their  clutches  the  sinuous   ribbons  of 

sea-weed 
Torn  from  the  still,  dark  bed  of  the  sea  by  the  might  of  the 

tempest. 
There  in  the  deeps  and  the  hollows  of  white  crests  curling  and 

combing 

Darted  on* flickering  pinions  a  petrel,  intrepidly  flying. 
Hurled  from  the  heart  of  the  east,  huge  thunder-clouds  swept 

o'er  the  ocean, 
Trailing  their  fringes  of   rain  with   its  low  hiss   lost  in  the 

clamor. 
Loud  was  the  voice  of  the  wind;  and  the  sunlight  in  fugitive 

flashes 
Glorious  shot  through  the  clouds  with  their  clefts  and  their 

terrible  caverns, 
Gleamed  for  a  time  and  was  gone,  as  the  clouds  came  sullen 

together. 

Trees  in  the  stream-filled  gorges  dividing  precipitous  headlands 
Bent  with  their  boughs  that  were  wrenched  by  the  wind  as  it 

swooped  through  the  valleys, 
Bent  to  the  banks  of  the  brooks  as  they  rushed  in  their  mad 

haste  seaward. 
Full   in  the   sting  of  the   rain   and   the   fury  of  wind   I  was 

standing ; 

There  by  the  ruinous  waste  of  the  ocean  I  stood  in  amazement ; 
Wondered  and  worshipped  in  sight  of  the  grandeur  of  God  the 

All-mighty. 


22 


PART  II. 
SONNETS. 


IN  MEMORIAM. 
WILLIAM  H.  BRANHAM, 
MASTER  AT  ST.  PAUL'S  SCHOOL. 

I. 

I   COULD  not  write  to  you  when  you  were  dying, 
Even  to  cheer  you,  of  the  trivial  things 
That  summer  to  an  idle  schoolboy  brings; 
I  could  not  speak  so  when  I  knew  you  lying 
Within  death's  shadow,  bravely  death  defying; 
Nor  had  I  skill  to  touch  more  solemn  strings. 
So  was  I  speechless  with  the  grief  that  wrings 
A  spirit  impotent,  the  end  descrying. 
Boyish  I  wrote  at  last,  impulsively, 
And  spoke  my  sorrow  from  a  loaded  heart, 
Hoping  to  lighten  you  of  some  small  part 
Of  the  dark  burden  of  your  misery. 
And  then  you  tore  my  very  soul  apart 
For  you,  the  dying,  wrote  to  comfort  me. 


II. 

I  could  not  speak  then  for  I  had  no  skill, 

Nor  knew  the  courageous  spirit  I  had  lost ; 

Now  I  guess  darkly  what  the  struggle  cost, 

When  with  your  splendid  strength  and  dauntless  will 

You  met  death  face  to  face  and  fought  until 

The  body  broke.  So  in  autumnal  frost 

I  have  seen  oaks,  their  naked  branches  tossed 

Against  the  heavens  on  a  windy  hill. 

I  cannot  think  the  everlasting  rest 

And  quiet  of  heaven  is  a  just  reward 

For  your  keen  spirit  tempered  like  a  sword ; 

Still  would  you  seek  to  win  a  distant  goal, 

Still  journey  onward  in  a  noble  quest. 

Strife  is  the  guerdon  for  so  strong  a  soul. 

25 


III. 

Often  the  iron  of  the  winding  stair 

Clattered,  as  hastily  with  lusty  shout 

I  mounted  to  your  door,  and  paused  without, 

Till  to  your  welcoming  cry  I  entered  there, 

To  ask  for  comfort  in  a  schoolboy  care, 

To  seek  solution  of  a  weighty  doubt, 

Or  joyously  to  say  the  buds  were  out 

And  spring  was  coming  with  the  quickened  air. 

Youth  pays  no  heed  to  death,  nor  understands 

That  the  clay's  happiness  will  ever  change, 

Or  love  and  friendship  fail ;  and  I,  a  boy, 

Held  those  dear  moments  in  unfeeling  hands, 

Scattered  and  squandered  them  in  thoughtless  joy. 

How  precious  are  they  now,  how  sad,  how  strange. 

IV. 

Your  room  was  a  sure  refuge  where  I  fled 
To  lose  my  grief  in  the  unfailing  cheer 
Your  kindness  gave  to  me,  past  speaking  dear ; 
For  there  I  talked  as  friend  to  friend,  instead 
Of  boy  to  man ;  or  when  the  day  was  dead 
In  quiet  contentment  watched  the  stars  appear, 
You  in  your  armchair,  reading  from  Lanier, 
Blue  clouds  of  eddying  smoke  above  your  head. 
I  never  thought  those  days  would  vanish  soon, 
Those  joyous  days  of  friendship,  and  of  life 
Wherein  the  past  and  future  had  no  part. 
Now  after  many  years,  a  certain  tune 
Of  your  beloved  Spain  cuts  like  a  knife, 
And  fragrance  of  tobacco  twists  my  heart. 


26 


TO  BUCKNER  PEARSON  SHOLL. 

UPRIGHT  he  stands  and  clean  and  straight  and  strong, 
Like  a  high  springing  tree,  hill  crowning,  where 
Only  the  sunlight  and  the  clear,  cool  air 
Surround  him  ever.  Far  above  the  throng, 
Among  the  gathered  glories  that  belong 
To  the  wide  heaven,  splendid  he  towers  there ; 
And  in  his  face  his  soul  is  featured  fair, 
The  soul  of  Galahad  who  did  no  wrong. 
Through  the  far  fields  of  France  he  went  his  way, 
Dwelling  with  ghastliness  and  girt  with  death, 
Silent  and  steady-eyed;  and  homeward  brought 
Cleanness  of  heart  like  dawn  of  summer  day, 
Freshness  of  spirit  like  the  north  wind's  breath, 
And  beauty  like  a  sword  blade  finely  wrought. 


BEYOND. 

IMMEASURABLY  below,  the  planets  swing, 
And  all  the  spirits  sit  without  a  sound ; 
The  peace  of  countless  ages  wraps  them  round ; 
The  old  stars  fade,  and  others  blazing  bring 
Tidings  of  new  worlds  of  God's  fashioning. 
So  bide  they  in  tranquillity  profound, 
Deep  in  the  heart  of  heaven  without  a  bound, 
Distant  beyond  the  mind's  imagining. 
Yet  not  so  distant  that  there  cannot  come, 
Faint  for  a  moment  like  a  pulse  of  air, 
Troubling  the  quietude  eternal,  some 
Old,  half-forgotten  human  grief  or  joy : 
A  young  girl  smiling  as  she  combed  her  hair ; 
Or  a  child  weeping  by  a  broken  toy. 


28 


THE  HERITAGE. 

YE  who  have  looked  at  death  with  laughing  glance, 
Dreamed  and  beheld  your  dreams  resplendent  rise, 
And  known  transforming  love  that  never  dies, 
Have  wrought  what  will  endure  beyond  mischance 
With  lives  where  death  was  but  a  circumstance; 
For  where  each  of  the  splendid  fallen  lies 
Honor  and  hope  and  fearlessness  arise 
Like  a  rich  incense  from  the  fields  of  France. 
For  me  a  nobler  earth,  a  vaster  heaven 
Ye  fashioned  with  the  glory  of  your  days, 
And  gave  immortal  men  and  deeds  to  sing; 
Save  that  I  cannot  give  as  ye  have  given, 
And  idle  seems  the  shaping  of  sweet  lays, 
And  making  rhymes  a  poor  and  futile  thing. 


29 


VICTORY. 

NOT  like  the  beast,  O  God,  not  like  the  beast! 
Let  me  not  fling  away  the  conscience  gleams 

Lighting  the  dark,  my  spirit-stirring  dreams 

And  star-fixed  vision  for  a  gross  flesh-feast. 

I  stand  at  the  flushed  gateway  of  the  east; 

Round  me  the  light  of  youth's  fresh  morning  streams ; 

The  richest  gifts  of  life  are  mine,  it  seems, 

And  with  the  best  I  would  not  change  for  least. 

Earth  claims  her  sensuous  due  of  life  and  death ; 

Yet,  if  I  yield  not  wholly  to  her  lure, 

I  at  the  last  triumphant  shall  arise ; 

And  though  I  vanish  like  a  frosty  breath, 

I  shall  outstrip  the  sun,  outsoar  the  skies, 

And  when  the  stars  are  dead  I  shall  endure. 


AUTUMN. 

THE  oak  that  towers  where  the  rock  ridge  ends 
In  rich  autumnal  pomp  of  red  and  gold, 
Single  and  stately  like  a  king  of  old, 
Before  the  first,  keen  wind  of  winter  bends ; 
And  its  great,  rugged  arms  upflinging  sends 
Showering  the  leaves  in  eddies  manifold, 
As  one  who  struggles  from  a  cloak's  thick  fold 
And  unencumbered  with  the  foe  contends. 
So  may  my  soul,  fronting  eternity, 
Steadfast  and  silent,  face  to  face  with  God, 
There  in  its  being's  frigid  autumn  fling 
Its  clinging  cerements  to  the  stiffened  sod ; 
Stand  naked  and  unashamed,  and  like  the  tree 
Be  clothed  with  ampler  foliage  in  the  spring. 


TO  DEATH. 


O   DEATH,  whose  dark  wing  overshadows  all, 
Whose  steady,  passionless,  inscrutable  eyes 
Look  coldly  down  on  life's  divine  surprise, 
On  the  heaped  riches  of  life's  festival, 
How  mighty  art  thou!  at  whose  whispered  call 
We  leave  our  dearest  treasures,  and  arise, 
And  journey  forth  to  that  far  land  which  lies 
Wrapped  in  the  dark  that  overshadows  all. 

0  Death,  before  whose  feet  all  life  is  bowed 
How  weak  and  witless  art  thou !  for  we  see 
Behind  the  gloom  of  thy  close-gathered  shroud 
The  blazing  brilliance  of  the  life  to  be 

That  glows  unquenchable,  as  from  a  cloud 
The  raying  sun  shines  out  triumphantly. 

II. 

1  listened  when  men  spoke  of  Death,  and  heard 
Of  his  transcendent  might  and  majesty, 

His  mercy  and  his  magnanimity 

To  those  in  pain ;  of  sluggish  spirits  stirred 

To  action  by  his  peremptory  word ; 

Of  lasting  glory  none  could  give  save  he; 

Of  knighthood  and  enduring  dignity 

That  but  one  royal  touch  of  his  conferred. 

Yet  when  I  saw  Death  sitting  in  her  place, 

A  shrunken  figure  crouched  beside  the  fire, 

Unmoved  by  passion,  cold  to  all  desire, 

Shrouding  with  sable  hood  his  fleshless  face, 

I  saw  no  state  or  splendor  of  a  king 

In  that  ungainly,  sightless,  shrivelled  thing. 


III. 

Silent  along  a  summer-shadowed  road 
I  walked  with  Death  at  my  right  hand.  I  knew 
That  he  could  still  the  wind  that  wandered  through 
The  quiet  lanes,  could  stay  the  stream  that  flowed 
Beneath  the  trees,  could  blast  their  mellowing  load 
That  at  his  touch  would  shrivel  as  the  dew 
Melts  in  the  light  of  morning,  and  I  knew 
He  could  revoke  all  things  that  life  bestowed. 
All  this  I  knew,  yet  fearlessly  I  turned 
And  full  in  his  unswerving  pathway  stood, 
That  even  for  a  moment  I  might  peer 
Beneath  the  shrouding  darkness  of  his  hood ; 
And  deep  within  his  angry  eyes  there  burned 
A  sullen  shame  and  an  undying  fear. 


33 


PART  III. 
THE  VIGIL. 

"And  set  her  by  to  watch,  and  set  her  by  to  weepe" 

— Faerie  Queene. 


THE  VIGIL. 

THROUGH  the  great  window  opening  on  the  west 
Came  the  deep  crimson  of  departing  day, 
Flushing  the  cold  hands  crossed  upon  his  breast, 
Where  with  closed  eyes  the  Queen's  young  lover  lay, 
Flooding  the  chamber  for  its  little  stay 
With  beauty  fitter  for  a  marriage  bed, 
Quickening  with  warmth  the  cold  cheeks,  ashen  gray, 
Staining  the  covering  and  the  couch  one  red, 
And  making  pale  the  tapers  ranged  about  his  head. 

Beside  him  a  black-mantled,  silent  nun 
Knelt  motionless ;  a  pulse  of  evening  air 
Fluttered  the  candles ;  slowly,  one  by  one, 
The  shadows  gathered  and  grew  long,  save  where 
The  last  light  of  the  sun,  surpassing  fair, 
Touched  his  still  figure  and  his  face  serene. 
Then  through  the  silence  that  was  sovereign  there 
Sounded  a  hurrying  of  feet  unseen, 

An  ever-growing  murmur  and  a  cry,  "The  Queen !" 

Suddenly  were  the  doors  flung  wide  apart ; 
A  burst  of  tumult  and  they  shut  again. 
There  was  the  Queen  alone ;  against  her  heart 
As  though  against  unutterable  pain 
Seeking  to  quiet  its  throbbing  all  in  vain, 
Her  hands  were  pressed.  Right  regal  from  her  head 
To  the  last  jewel  of  her  jeweled  train 
She  stood,  stone  still,  and  gazed  upon  the  bed ; 

Only  her  white  lips,  anguished,  stiffly  whispered,  "dead." 

In  the  broad  shaft  of  slowly  fading  light, 
Amid  the  darkness  and  the  gathering  gloom 
And  the  deep  shade  of  close-enfolding  night, 
Creeping  about  her  like  a  stealthy  doom, 
Flamelike  she  stood ;  and  like  the  broadening  bloom, 
The  kindling  dawn-flush  of  triumphant  day 
Fired  with  her  fervor  the  still,  sombre  room, 
Scattered  the  shadows  that  about  her  lay 

With  her  resplendent  beauty's  overmastering  sway. 

37 


Then  to  the  kneeling  nun,  who  in  surprise 
Paused  in  the  telling  of  her  rosary 
And  from  the  dead  raised  her  untroubled  eyes, 
The  Queen  spake  as  befitted  royalty 
(Only  her  pale  lips  trembled),  "Leave  us.  We 
Keep  here  to-night  our  vigil  in  your  place." 
Whereat  the  other  rose  up  wonderingly 
And  making  obeisance,  left  her ;  for  a  space 

She  moved  not,  while  the  light  grew  less  upon  her  face. 

And  then  the  mighty  Queen  who  moonlike  shone 
In  sovereign  splendor  great  and  glorified, 
Moving  august,  majestic  and  alone, 
Among  the  lesser  stars  half  deified, 
Vanished  and  left  a  woman ;  all  her  pride, 
Disdain  and  dignity  and  scorn  were  swept 
Before  the  full  flood  of  her  passion's  tide. 
There  at  her  dead  love's  feet  she  fell,  and  crept 

Against  his  breast,  and  clasped  his  hands,  and  sadly  wept, 

Long  hours  she  lay  there  till  her  tears  were  dry, 
Stroking  his  forehead,  whispering  his  name, 
Sobbing  her  grief  out;  while  the  evening  sky 
Faded  to  utter  darkness  and  became 
Glorious  with  starlight,  while  the  taper-flame 
Deepened  and  ripened  into  glowing  gold, 
While  from  the  dark,  tree-shaded  garden  came 
The  chirp  of  crickets,  smell  of  the  fresh  mould, 

And  the  full  fragrance  of  the  blossoms  manifold. 

At  length  she  rose,  and  with  white,  trembling  hands 
Stripped  off  the  jewels  of  her  rich  attire, 
Heavy  with  princely  spoil  of  ravaged  lands  : 
Diamonds  that  flamed  with  a  great  city's  fire, 
Pearls  shimmering  with  murdered  men's  desire, 
Rubies  that  glistened  with  an  emperor's  blood, 
The  ancient  treasure  of  a  funeral  pyre ; 
Loosened  the  fastenings  of  her  hair  and  stood 

With  tresses  flowing  free,  the  sign  of  maidenhood. 

38 


"So  I  have  done  with  sovereignty,"  she  said, 
"And  with  the  royalty  that  came  between 
My  love  and  me  ;  now  that  my  love  is  dead 
I  have  enough  of  pride  of  place,  I  ween  ; 
The  mighty  magic  of  the  name  of  'Queen' 
Has  lost  the  virtue  that  it  had  of  late  ; 
Queenhood  is  hateful  to  me,  for  I  have  seen 
The  bitterness  of  majesty  and  state, 

And  know  how  sad  it  is  and  lonely  to  be  great. 

"I  am  become  a  woman  once  again, 

A  queen  no  longer,  yet  will  never  be 

Free  from  my  bitter  penitence  and  pain, 

Free  from  my  torturing  regret  or  free 

From  my  intolerable  memory." 

Soft  as  the  night  wind  her  voice  died  away, 

And  in  the  silence  she  gazed  dreamily 

At  the  deep-shadowed  garden  as  it  lay 
Before  her  in  the  young-lived  loveliness  of  May. 

Slowly  she  sank  down  and  sat  heedless  there 
In  the  still,  starry  night  that  like  a  shroud 
Clung  close  about  her  ;  with  her  loosened  hair 
Gleaming  like  some  bright,  sun-enkindled  cloud, 
Her  white  hands  listless,  and  her  fair  head  bowed 
That  bent  not  with  the  weight  of  destinies, 
And  her  pale  face,  imperious  and  proud, 
Saddened  and  softened  by  her  mourning  eyes 

Haunted  with  shapes  of  dreams  and  ghosts  of  memories. 

Visions  of  new-green  meadow  and  clear  sun 

And  a  young  soul  that  looked  with  wakening  eyes 
On  the  world's  wonder,  pure  heart  scarce  begun 
To  feel  the  fires  of  deepening  passion  rise 
Like  springing  sunbeams  to  the  morning  skies, 
Bright  with  the  beauty  of  the  day  to  be. 
Love  filled  her  spirit  with  a  dim  surmise  : 
The  tempest's  first  light  touch  upon  the  tree, 

The  gathering  wind  on  the  ungovernable  sea. 


Then  in  her  brooding,  verdant  summer  brought 
The  peaceful  days  that  like  deep  waters  flow 
Silently  by,  and  in  her  heart  she  thought, 
"Before  the  rose  has  faded  I  will  show 
Some  little  sign  that  he  mayhap  will  know 
I  love  him."  Smiling  for  pure  joy  she  went 
Along  the  vivid  garden,  stooping  low 
To  raise  some  stem  with  weight  of  blossoms  bent 

With  gentle  touch  that  gave  new  life  and  hue  and  scent. 

And  on  a  day  all  fresh  from  recent  rain, 

Sweet  with  the  smell  of  earth  and  leaves  washed  clean, 
Sunlike  she  moved  among  the  flowers  again, 
Softly  as  southern  wind  she  went  between 
Them  thinking,  "Here  where  the  tall  lilies  lean 
Together  1  will  yield  me."  Thither  came 
Her  lover  where  she  lingered  half  unseen, 
Upon  his  lips  the  longing  of  her  name, 

And  in  his  questing  eyes  the  light  of  leaping  flame 

(Eyes  closed  forever  in  the  candle  light, 
And  lips  once  eloquent  with  passion,  cold 
As  the  white  moon  slow-rising  through  the  night). 
Then  mid  the  shadows  of  her  memories  old 
Came  flash  of  jewels  and  swift  gleam  of  gold, 
And  courtiers  bowing  ceremoniously, 
Bringing  her  splendor,  stateliness  untold, 
Dominion  mighty  as  the  sweeping  sea, 

Sceptre  and  diadem  of  throned  majesty. 

Before  her  rose  with  royal  circumstance 
Kingdoms  and  realms  and  ancient  emperies 
Golden  with  legend  and  with  old  romance, 
Magnificent  with  song  of  centuries, 
Bastioned  with  dreams  and  walled  with  memories 
Of  long-gone  glory  and  of  dead  desire : 
All-ruling  Rome,  Persian  Persepolis, 
Babylon  and  Nineveh,  far-sailing  Tyre, 

And  long-beleaguered  Ilium,  red  crowned  with  fire. 

40 


And  the  fair,  fabled  Queens,  whose  very  names 
Make  music,  rose  before  her,  shining  clear 
Through  the  deep  darkness  of  old  time  like  flames: 
Helen  of  Troy,  Iseult  and  Guinevere, 
And  Cleopatra,  marvelous  with  sheer 
And  splendid  beauty;  and  a  glowing  throng 
Thick  as  the  shadows  when  the  night  is  near, 
Great  kings  and  lords  and  princes  who  belong 

To  immemorial  story  and  to  age-old  song. 

As  thus  she  mused,  the  moon  high  risen  shone 
Upon  her  like  a  benediction,  where 
With  heart  full  sorrowing  she  sat  alone, 
And  made  a  saintly  silver  round  her  hair ; 
On  her  dark,  downcast  eyes  and  bosom  bare 
Its  tranquil,  cold  caressing  softly  fell, 
As  she  sat  deeply  dreaming,  unaware, 
Still  wrapped  in  brooding,  folded  in  the  spell 

Of  joy  close  treasured  and  old  hope  remembered  well. 

Once  more  the  summer  blossomed  at  her  feet, 
While  through  her  soul  like  a  resistless  tide 
Swept  high  ambition  and  desire  most  meet 
For  a  great  queen ;  before  her  new-born  pride 
Her  love,  young,  timid,  half-reluctant  died 
Like  a  pale  star  before  the  rush  of  day. 
Then  from  the  garden,  flushed  and  eager-eyed, 
Vestured  in  beauty  like  the  rich  array 

Of  dawning  sun,  she  moved  majestic  on  her  way. 

And  in  the  morningtide  of  her  delight, 
Her  virgin  dignity  and  honors  new, 
Her  unaccustomed  majesty  and  might 
Made  fair  her  ways  before  her  like  the  hue 
Of  newly  budded  blossoms  fresh  with  dew ; 
For  in  her  heart  bloomed  happiness  full-blown, 
And  like  a  flower,  content  within  her  grew, 
And  round  her  like  a  halo  joyance  shone 

As  in  her  maiden  state  she  moved  apart,  alone. 

41 


Yet  as  the  freshness  of  the  morning  dies 

When  the  swift  splendor  of  the  dawn  is  spent, 

So  died  her  perfect  peace ;  for  vague  surmise, 

Disquietude  and  nameless  discontent, 

Strange  restlessness  and  longing  eloquent 

Disturbed  the  deep  of  her  tranquillity ; 

As  in  a  spot,  secluded,  redolent 

Of  long,  warm,  golden  noon  sounds  distantly 

The  sweep  and  surge  and  tumult  of  the  troubled  sea. 

Then  suddenly  she  learned  that  he  had  died 
And  her  dim  love  leaped  fervid  into  flame ; 
Careless  of  queenhood,  crowned  and  sanctified, 
Careless  of  honor  and  imperial  fame, 
Broken  beneath  her  sorrow  and  her  shame 
That  swept  her  spirit  like  a  mighty  wave, 
Straightway  to  her  dead  lover's  side  she  came, 
That,  love  consummate  lost,  she  yet  might  save 

One  moment  of  pure  passion  from  the  loveless  grave. 

At  length  the  sad  Queen  sighed  and  raised  her  eyes, 
Heavy  with  grieving.  The  long  night  was  past; 
The  stars  were  pallid  in  the  wan,  white  skies ; 
A  little  wind  stirred  in  the  trees  that  cast 
Faint,  trembling  shadows  on  the  flowers,  massed 
In  ghostly  beauty,  that  beneath  them  lay ; 
In  the  swift  dawning  seemed  the  heaven  vast, 
Vacant  and  comfortless  and  cold  and  gray, 

Stripped  of  the  splendor  of  the  night,  unclothed  with  day. 

Weary  she  rose,  and  with  the  day  her  loss, 

Passion  and  pain  and  grief  seemed  ages  old. 

Against  the  flushing  dawn  a  chapel  cross 

Flashed  on  a  sudden  into  flaming  gold ; 

Slowly  and  heavily  the  great  bell  tolled ; 

Faintly  the  singing  of  the  nuns  arose, 

Distant,  ethereal  and  clear  and  cold, 

Fraught  with  the  stillness  of  eternal  snows, 
With  rest,  long  ease,  content,  comfort  and  sweet  repose, 

42 


Bringing  her  heart  a  hope  of  refuge  dim 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  a  convent  wall, 
With  but  the  throb  of  some  majestic  hymn 
Or  burst  of  organ  melody  to  fall 
Across  the  silence.  Tremulous  and  tall 
As  a  wind-shaken  lily  stood  the  Queen, 
Fronting  the  dawn,  while  solemnly  o'er  all 
The  stir  of  morning  rose  the  chant  serene 

Of  those  who  came  to  bear  him  to  his  last  demesne. 

Yet  as  the  black-robed  nuns  were  drawing  near, 
And  the  slow  rhythm  of  their  swelling  song- 
Rang  out  across  the  meadow,  full  and  clear, 
Her  old  pride  rose,  imperiously  strong 
From  the  vain  sorrow  of  her  vigil  long. 
Love  lay  behind  her,  for  the  night  was  done 
That  nor  regret  nor  grieving  could  prolong, 
And  a  new  strength  and  courage  she  had  won 

To  meet  the  years  of  queenhood  rising  with  the  sun. 

Swiftly  and  passionately  at  length  she  turned 
And  with  white  fingers  braided  up  her  hair, 
Gathered  the  jewels  that  like  embers  burned 
And  o'er  her  lover  bending,  tall  and  fair, 
Kissed  him  with  lips  that  trembled  with  despair, 
With  faith  unspoken  and  with  love  untold. 
Then  as  the  singing  sounded  on  the  stair 
And  through  the  room  the  stately  measure  rolled, 

The  pale  Queen  rose  and  stood,  imperially  cold. 


43 


PART  IV. 
THE  FOUR  WINDS. 

"Of  the  Four  Seasons  each  has  its  own  mood" 

— Po  Chu-i, 


SUMMER. 

UPON  the  tranquil  bosom  of  the  slumberous  noon 
Lie  the  unmoving  shadows  of  wide,  spreading  trees ; 
Luxuriant  meadows,  opulent  with  summer,  swoon 
Beneath  the  breathless  spell  of  indolence  and  ease ; 
The  hush  of  the  full  heat  of  noon  is  on  the  hill ; 
Blue  dragon-flies  hang  shimmering  above  the  stream ; 
The  blossoms  and  the  grasses  droop ;  the  birds  are  still ; 
Innumerable  insects  hum  as  in  a  dream ; 
In  the  faint,  failing  wind  a  leaf  stirs  languidly ; 
The  notes  of  shrill  cicadas  into  silence  fall ; 
The  purple  clover  bends  beneath  a  clinging  bee ; 
A  butterfly  dances  on  blazing  wings ;  and  over  all 
The  smiting  splendor  of  the  noon  sun  flings  a  golden  pall, 

High  in  the  heaven  hangs  a  single  cloud, 
The  glowing  sunlight  gathered  to  its  breast. 
There  'neath  the  spell  of  mighty  magic  bowed 
The  spirit  fares  on  some  transcendent  quest 
Through  phantom  shades  to  an  untrodden  town, 
Where  by  strange  headlands  an  old  ocean  sweeps, 
And  from  huge  heights  dim,  perilous  paths  lead  down 
To  dire  and  unimaginable  deeps. 

Now  is  the  time  of  earth's  full  flowering, 

Summer's  profusion,  prodigally  spent 

In  rich  perfume  and  color,  dowering 

The  teeming  fields  with  languorous  content. 

Above  their  long  leagues,  warm  and  redolent, 

Broods  a  sweet  sense  of  being,  scarce  begun, 

Of  life  eternal  and  omnipotent ; 

While  through  the  leaves  the  wind's  light  ripples  run, 

And  fruit  in  heavy  clusters  mellows  in  the  sun. 


47 


AUTUMN. 

BOISTEROUS  waves  that  laugh  and  leap 
On  the  glistening  rocks  and  the  gleaming  sand, 
And  swift  blue  shadows  of  clouds  that  sweep 
Over  the  flaming  autumnal  land, 
Set  in  a  circle  of  flashing  sea 
Shaken  with  wild  wind's  ecstasy. 

A  glorious  song  the  wind  is  singing, 

Resounding  music  of  sea  and  sky, 

Of  clamorous  sea-gulls  circling,  swinging, 

Of  the  hiss  of  waters  washing  high, 

Of  fugitive  sails  and  the  ocean  flinging 

A  sun-lit  splendor  of  flying  foam 

Where  the  crests  of  the  surges  curl  and  comb. 

The  clarion  voice  of  the  wind  is  calling 
Over  the  heads  of  the  listening  hills 
A  burden  of  beauty  beyond  recalling, 
Of  hopes  that  fall  as  the  leaves  are  falling, 
Of  sure  foreknowledge  of  future  ills. 

The  trumpet  voice  of  the  wind  is  thrilling 
Through  valleys  vestured  in  golden  grain, 
Through  orchards  heavy  with  harvest,  filling 
The  air  with  tumultuous  summons,  stilling 
Futile  regret  and  repining  vain. 

The  passionate  pulses  of  life  are  beating 
Through  meadows  blazing  with  burnished  gold 
Faster  and  fiercer,  and  beauty,  fleeting, 
Brings  deeper  joy  than  it  brought  of  old 
When  it  rose  at  the  summer's  lightest  greeting, 
Ere  its  store  was  spent  and  its  treasure  told. 

Yet  as  the  music  fails  and  falters, 
And  the  wild  wind  dies  with  the  dying  sun, 
And  the  fire  sinks  low  on  forsaken  altars 
Where  life  burned  brightest,  and  one  by  one, 


The  leaves  spin  downward,  there  comes  a  grieving 
For  pure  ambitions  past  achieving, 
For  visions  vanished  and  deeds  undone. 


49 


WINTER. 

HARSH  is  the  north  wind's  breath, 
And  harsh  is  death. 
Huddled  together  in  the  searching  air 
The  oaks  stand  gaunt  and  naked  to  the  cold ; 
All  things  are  bowed  beneath  a  dark  despair, 
Are  helpless,  hopeless,  tired  and  very  old ; 
For  the  north  wind's  bitter  breath 
Is  death. 

The  haggard  trees  are  black  against  the  west 
Where  a  dull  sunset  smoulders  sullenly, 
While  like  a  spent  soul  vainly  seeking  rest, 
Foredoomed  and  fated  to  a  fruitless  quest, 
Yet  seeking  endlessly 
The  wind  goes  by. 
From  bank  to  frozen  bank 
The  long  lake's  face  is  blank; 
And  overhead 
The  sky  is  dead. 

Now  from  the  north  comes  the  storm  like  a  fierce  wild  thing 

that  is  lost, 
Ruthlessly  wrenching  the  boughs  of  the  oaks  in  their  agony 

tossed 

Heavenward,  writhing,  imploring  a  respite,  beseeching  a  rest 
From  the  shuddering  wildness  of  wind  and  the  terror  of  tempest 

pressed 

All  but  resistless  against  them.  As  bitter  as  death  the  blast 
Mercilessly  scourges  the  meadows,  until  like  a  dream  that  is 

passed, 
The   earth   and   the   heavens    have   vanished,   dead   leaves    in 

tumultuous  flight, 

And  nothing  remains  but  a  wind  that  wails  in  a  chaos  of  cold 
and  night. 

And  now  in  utter  silence,  utter  dark 
The  world  lies  stiffened,  naked,  stark ; 
No  light,  no  sound  beneath  a  barren  sky, 
Save  for  the  black  ice  cracking  suddenly. 

50 


All  things  shall  come  to  this  : 

All  wonder  and  all  bliss, 

All  the  swift  passion  of  the  hearts  that  beat 

With  sense  of  life  unutterably  sweet, 

All  song  and  laughter,  all  friendship  and  all  love, 

Delight  in  deed  and  dreaming,  and  above 

The  rest  the  rapture  of  creation, — all 

Shall  through  the  ages  fail  and  fade  and  fall ; 

Until  the  earth,  without  one  glowing  spark 

In  all  its  livid  leagues  of  frozen  ground, 

Shall  whirl  beneath  the  sky  without  a  sound 

Save  for  the  black  ice  cracking  in  the  dark. 


SPRING. 

SOMETHING  is  stirring  within  the  earth ; 
Some  spirit  moves  upon  the  air, 
Prelude  of  melody  and  mirth, 
Presage  of  spring's  green,  glorious  birth 
In  the  bosom  of  meadows  brown  and  bare 
And  moist  with  the  melting  of  snow. 

The  alders,  crimson  flushed,  bend  low 
Beside  the  bank  of  the  brimming  stream, 
Rippling  its  smooth  and  silent  flow, 
As  roused  from  its  long,  dark,  winter  dream 
With  glint  and  glimmer  and  quiver  and  gleam 
It  hastens  with  swift  and  sweeping  grace, 
As  though  to  a  mystic  meeting  place. 

The  trees  with  pointed  leaf  buds  swelling 
Await  in  still  expectancy 
The  wonder  of  the  wind's  foretelling, 
The  miracle  of  mirth  to  be. 

For  at  the  wind's  light  touch  the  world  is  rife 

With  swift,  keen  sense  of  newly  wakened  life, 

Sweeter  than  full  fruition  of  the  spring. 

And  through  the  meadows  like  a  flickering  fire 

Runs  a  fierce  flaming  of  renewed  desire 

For  the  delight  of  beauty's  blazoning, 

For  softening  shadows  and  the  brightening  skies, 

Odor  of  earth  and  tender  growing  things, 

The  flash  and  flutter  of  the  robins'  wings ; 

The  splendor  of  the  spring  that  never  dies. 

The  touch  of  the  caressing  wind  that  brings 
A  misty  beauty  to  the  budding  spray 
After  the  passage  of  a  thousand  springs 
Shall  give  the  glory  that  it  gives  to-day. 


A  time  shall  come  when  it  shall  not  avail 

To  wake  the  world  to  burgeoning  anew, 

Yet  shall  the  scent  of  blossoms  never  fail 

Nor  young  leaves  lose  the  freshness  of  their  hue. 

For  when  with  us  delight  no  longer  dwells, 
Then  it  shall  pass  to  those  great  gulfs  that  lie 
Beyond  the  stars  that  stand  like  sentinels 
Around  the  little  limits  of  our  sky. 

And  other  worlds  shall  rise  beyond  our  ken 
When  we  are  given  to  darkness  and  to  cold, 
And  there  rejoicingly  shall  other  men 
Cherish  the  loves  and  dream  the  dreams  of  old. 

After  the  dawning,  they  shall  know  the  noon 
And  the  sad  splendor  of  the  evening  light, 
And  sink  at  last  to  silence  like  a  tune 
That  throbbing  dies  to  nothing  in  the  night. 

For  countless  stars  beneath  the  great  wind's  breath 
Shall  leap  to  life  and  wax  and  wane  and  die ; 
Infinite  life  shall  turn  again  to  death, 
And  dark  shall  pass  to  dark  eternally. 

Yet  though  unnumbered  suns,  no  longer  glowing, 
Silent  beneath  a  silent  heaven  swing, 
In  the  far  depth  of  space  the  wind  is  blowing, 
And  on  the  verge  of  chaos  it  is  spring. 


53 


PART  V. 

THE  ALTAR  CANDLE. 
A  PLAY  IN  ONE  ACT. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS: 

LADY  BEATRICE. 

LORD  GEOFFREY. 

ANNE,  the  maid  of  Lady  Beatrice. 

A  Jester. 

A  Nubian  Mute. 

Servants. 

PLACE  :  A  Baronial  Castle. 
TIME:  Thirteenth  Century. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE:  A  private  apartment  of  Lady  Beatrice.  Back  center,  a 
prie-dieu  of  carved  oak  over  which  hangs  a  crucifix.  Back 
left,  a  small  door  covered  with  a  curtain.  Back  right,  a 
larger  door,  the  curtains  of  which  are  drawn,  disclosing  a 
passage.  Right  front,  a  door,  beside  which  stands  a  table  of 
black  oak.  On  the  table  is  a  bronze  gong.  A  large  casement 
window  (Left)  which  is  open  to  the  twilight.  Before  this  a 
broad  seat.  Before  the  seat  a  footstool.  On  the  walls,  which 
are  of  stone,  pieces  of  tapestry. 

[Before  the  curtain   rises  the  Jester  is   heard  off  stage, 
singing.} 

"The  moon  I  swear 

Is  not  so  fair 
My  lady  love  as  you ;" 

So  do  men  say 

And  vow  that  they 
Will  be  forever  true. 

And  for  a  while 

The  moon  doth  smile 
And  they  are  very  true ; 

Yet  love  is  blind 

And  soon  they  find 
Another  star  will  do. 

[The  curtain  rises,  discovering  Anne,  and  servants  who 
are  arranging  the  room,  bringing  candles,  etc.} 

ANNE. 

Make  haste !  make  haste !  Has  not  the  merry  spring 
Set  your  old  bones  to  dancing  ?  What,  so  slow ! 
There's  none  of  you  in  love,  or  else  your  feet 
Would  move  in  livelier  measure. 

[Enter  first  servant  with  a  dish  of  fruit.} 
FIRST  SERVANT. 

Here  is  fruit. 
57 


ANNE. 
The  table  yonder. 

[To  second  servant  who  is  setting  down  a  candle.} 

Marry !  Have  you  wits  ? 
Set  it  not  there. 

[To  third  servant.} 

Fetch  you  more  candles. 

[To  second  servant  who  is  setting  down  the  candle  i 
another  place.] 

So. 
[She  goes  to  the  casement  and  blows  a  kiss  to  the  moon, 

You  are  enough  for  lovers ;  we  can  kiss 
Without  a  better  light. 

FOURTH  SERVANT. 

Here  is  the  wine, 

A  right  good  vintage.  I  could  play  the  lord, 
And  do  it  well  too,  warmed  with  such  a  drink. 

ANNE. 

[Laughing  and  shutting  the  casement.} 
Peace!  put  it  down. 

[She  crosses  to  the  table  and  rearranges  the  fruit  an 
wine;  she  takes  an  apple  from  the  dish  and  hole 
it  up  as  though  to  admire  its  bright  color.} 

[Enter  the  Jester.} 

[He   comes   up  stealthily    behind  Anne   and  kisses   he 
Dropping    the   apple   she    turns   and   administers 
sounding  box  on  the  ear.  The  Jester  retreats  has  til 
pursued  by  Anne.} 

[Exit  Jester.] 

[Anne  stands  vigorously  rubbing  off  his  kiss.] 

[A  servant  replaces  the  apple  beside  the  dish.} 

58 


[Anne  looks  through  the  door  (R)  then  she  turns  to  the 
servants.] 

Enough,  enough!  'Tis  well; 
The  room  will  do  now ;  get  you  gone. 

[Exeunt  servants  (Back).] 
[Enter  Geoffrey  (R).] 

ANNE. 
[With  deep  curtsey.] 

My  Lord. 

[While  he  advances,  looking  about  the  room,  Anne  draws 
the  curtains  at  the  back.] 

GEOFFREY. 
I  sought  her  Ladyship. 


ANNE. 
[Coming  forward.] 

None  else,  my  Lord*? 


GEOFFREY. 

Now,  by  my  faith,  I  did  not  seek  you,  Anne ! 
Shall  but  a  kiss  or  two  bind  me  forever? 

[The  Jester  s  face  appears  between  the  curtains.] 

ANNE. 

I  would  not  bind  you,  for  I  know  you  true ; 
Yet  for  a  token  that  mayhap  will  keep 
The  memory  of  me  bright  within  your  heart, 
When  you  are  gone  to-morrow  to  the  wars, 
I  cut  this  lock  off;  guard  it  well,  my  Lord. 

GEOFFREY. 
[Laughing.] 

Nay,  keep  your  tresses,  they  become  you  better ! 

59 


ANNE. 

'Tis  but  a  little  token  of  the  love, 
The  lasting  love  we  feel. 

GEOFFREY. 

I  feel  it  not. 

What  could  have  been  between  us  but  a  love 
Brief  as  the  swallow's  mating  in  the  spring.'? 

ANNE. 
My  Lord,  you  promised — 

GEOFFREY. 

What  are  promises 

When  spring  is  in  the  air  ?  They  are  but  part 
Of  the  ephemeral  love  that  gives  them  birth, 
And  die  when  love  dies. 

ANNE. 
Are  yours  dead,  my  Lord? 

GEOFFREY. 
Dead. 

ANNE. 
[Falling  on  her  knees  and  grasping  Geoffrey  by  the  cloak. 

Oh,  my  Lord !  Then  give  them  life  again ! 
I  am  not  what  you  think  me,  quickly  won, 
Yielding  my  heart  to  every  passing  smile. 
My  Lord !  my  Lord !  My  love  is  not  for  spring 
But  for  eternity. 

GEOFFREY. 
[Drawing  away.} 

Be  silent,  girl. 
Are  you  a  child  that  reaches  for  the  moon  ? 

60 


ANNE. 
Geoffrey ! 

[The  Jester's  face  disappears.] 

GEOFFREY. 

[Moving  toward  the  door.} 

Be  but  content  to  know  the  moon 
Is  far  above  your  reach,  and  you  may  find 
Some  comfort  in  its  beams. 

ANNE. 
Geoffrey ! 

GEOFFREY. 
Farewell. 

[Exit  Geoffrey  (Back).] 

[Anne  remains  on  her  knees  weeping.  She  raises  her  head 

and  listens;  then  she  rises  hastily  and  exit  (Back).] 
[Enter  Beatrice  (R).] 
[She    sees    the    curtain    moving,    and    watches    it   for    a 

moment;  then  she  crosses  to  the  casement  and  throws 

it  open.  The  moonlight  streams  in.] 

BEATRICE. 

The  moon  is  on  the  meadows  like  a  spell, 
Deep  as  desire  and  magical  as  love. 

[She  gazes  out  for  a  moment,  smiling.  Then  she  strikes 
once  on  the  gong  and  sinks  back  into  the  casement 
seat.] 

[Enter  the  Jester  who  approaches  inquiringly.  She  motions 
him  to  the  footstool.] 

[There  is  a  short  silence.] 

BEATRICE. 

Sir  Jester,  have  you  ever  been  in  love1? 

61 


JESTER. 

Pray  you,  my  Lady,  for  my  poor  head's  sake 
Ask^me  some  simple  thing,  as,  "Are  you  well  T 
Or  "Have  you  dined ?"  or  "Is  your  doublet  warm?" 
Some  question  that  a  downright  "yes"  or  "no" 
Will  answer ;  but  in  love — truly  love  seems 
As  various  as  the  many-colored  bow 
Hanging  'twixt  sun  and  storm.  For  if  by  "love" 
My  Lady  means  delight  in  good  hot  soup, 
Or  fondness  for  a  bed  of  clean  dry  straw, 
Why  then  I  am  most  thoroughly  in  love, 
And  may  God  keep  me  in  that  mind.  Amen. 
But  if  my  Lady  means  a  languishing 
In  some  soft-cushioned  moonlit  casement  seat, 
With  idly  straying  hands  and  dreaming  eyes 
Why  then  I  know  it  not. 

BEATRICE. 
[Laughing  softly.] 

What  think  you  of  it? 
Is  it  a  thing  that  you  would  choose  to  have  *? 

JESTER. 

Indeed,  'tis  pretty,  and  gives  rise  no  doubt 
To  blushes,  little  catchings  of  the  breath, 
Sweet  whispers,  woeful  sighs,  and  hands  soft  pressed, 
And  tuneful  madrigals ;  yet  this  same  love 
So  greatly  undermines  the  appetite, 
That  I'll  have  none  of  it. 

BEATRICE. 
[Dreamily.] 

Yet  to  the  world 

It  gives  a  magic  and  a  beauty  greater 
Than  sun  or  moon  or  light  of  any  star. 

JESTER. 
Truly  there's  magic  in  it. 

62 


BEATRICE. 

And  content, 
Comfort,  and  marvelously  sweet  repose, 
Strong  with  the  strength  of  faith.  As  when  one  moves 
Through  a  thick  forest,  dark  and  overgrown, 
And  comes  at  length  upon  an  open  spot 
Where  the  clear,  smiting  sunshine  cleaves  apart 
The  tangled  trees,  and  makes  a  place  of  light 
And  warmth  and  freedom ;  so  I  found  my  love, 
And  in  it  found  content. 

JESTER. 

Yes,  for  a  time. 

But  love  is  always  setting  like  the  sun. 
Men  are  forever  false  for  all  their  vows, 
And  only  God  can  know  their  constancy. — 
Once,  as  the  legend  runs,  there  lived  a  maid 
Fair  as  a  summer  day,  fair  even  as  you, 
"The  Lady  of  the  Candles"  she  was  called; 
And  in  her  heart  love  like  rich  music  swelled 
Harmoniously,  and  life  was  sweet;  until 
One  whispered  that  her  lover  was  untrue, 
And  told  a  tale  of  lust  and  treachery, 
Troubling  her  utter  purity  of  soul. 
Yet  in  her  meekness  she  but  murmured,  "God 
Shall  judge,  not  I";  and  bade  her  lover  come 
And  in  the  chapel  by  the  altar  steps, 
Where  the  blessed  candles  burned  beside  the  cross, 
By  ordeal  prove  his  love.  "Choose  one,"  she  said ; 
"God  will  direct  your  choice,  and  I  shall  know 
Your  faith  or  your  inconstancy."  He  chose. 
Then  with  soft  laughter  from  her  lightened  heart 
She  said,  "I  never  doubted  you."  And  yet 
Methinks  the  tale  was  not  entirely  false. 

BEATRICE. 

You  jest  well,  fool ;  and  knowing  naught  of  love, 
Perchance  there  lies  the  measure  of  your  folly ; 

63 


For  I  have  found  a  lover  without  flaw 
To  mar  his  honor. 

JESTER. 

Then  your  Ladyship 
Has  better  eyes  than  I — or  not  so  good. 
I  have  seen  sights,  for  none  regarded  me, 
The  fool ;  and  truly  it  hath  made  me  wonder 
Who  best  becomes  the  motley ;  all  the  maids 
So  simple,  trusting,  and  so  lily  pure; 
And  all  the  men,  the  perfect  knights-at-arms, 

Speckless  and  spotless — swift  and  passionate  love 

Then  a  new  face,  a  pair  of  redder  lips — 

[He  breaks  off  with  a  shrug.  Beatrice  makes  a  gesture  o\ 
disgust.] 

Nay,  there  is  no  one  pure  in  all  the  court, 
Saving  my  Lady  Beatrice. 

BEATRICE. 
[Softly.] 

And  my  Geoffrey. 

JESTER. 

[Tuning  his  guitar  and  not  heeding  Beatrices  remark.] 
For  even  Anne,  my  Lady's  maid,  hath  proved 
No  wiser  than  the  others,  and  hath  found 
That  there's  no  trusting  lovers'  promises, 
However  great  a  lord  the  lover  is ; 
For  I  had  come  to  seek  your  Ladyship 
To  this  same  room,  but  a  brief  hour  agone, 
And  found  Anne  pleading  and  his  Lordship  cold ; 
And  when  she  fell  before  him,  grasped  his  cloak, 
And  clung  to  him  with  desperate,  clutching  hands, 
Hands  he  had  fondled  not  so  long  ago, 
He  drew  away  impatiently,  denied 
His  love  for  her  and  left'her  weeping  there. 
"Geoffrey!"  she  cried — 

64 


BEATRICE. 
[Starting  up  with  a  cry.] 

Geoffrey ! 

JESTER. 
[Laughing.] 

I  marvel  not 

My  Lady  finds  it  scarce  believable, 
A  likely  story  for  a  fool  to  tell. 
Yet  on  mine  honor  as  a  fool,  the  girl 
Spoke  eloquently  of  passion  and  of  vows, 
Talked  of  remembrance  and  eternal  love, 
As  though  a  lady ;  cut  a  lock  of  hair 
For  him  to  cherish  as  a  thing  of  worth. 
Yet  was  his  Lordship  merry ;  "Loose  me,  girl. 
Put  up  your  tresses,  they  become  you  better. 
Are  you  a  child  that  reaches  for  the  moon  ?" 

BEATRICE. 

Sirrah,  now  by  God's  truth  you  smart  for  this ! 
Torture  will  teach  you  to  control  your  tongue ! 

JESTER. 
[Falling  on  his  knees.] 

Pardon,  my  Lady,  pardon  for  God's  sake ! 
What  said  I  to  offend  your  Ladyship*? 
'Twas  but  a  fool's  tongue,  talking  foolishly. 

BEATRICE. 

Here!  Down  upon  your  knees  before  the  altar. 
Take  you  the  Book,  and  as  you  hope  for  Heaven 
Swear  you  to  speak  the  truth !  What  saw  you  here 
Between  my  Lord  and  Anne  ? 

JESTER. 
Now  as  I  hope 
That  Christ  will  pardon  me  my  many  sins, 

65 


I  came  by  chance  on  Anne  and  my  Lord  Geoffrey. 
Anne  begged  him  to  be  true,  fell  at  his  feet 
Better  to  plead  her  passion ;  he  drew  back 
Before  her  groping  fingers,  and  denied 
His  love  for  her ;  and  then  she  cried  his  name ; 
He  laughed  and  left  her ;  as  she  cried  again 

BEATRICE. 

Enough.  Tis  well  you  tell  your  tale  so  pat, 
Or  else  not  all  the  oaths  in  earth  or  Heaven 
Would  have  availed  to  save  you !  Get  you  gone. 
[Exit  Jester  (/?).] 

[Beatrice  stands  motionless  for  a  moment;  then  in  a  pas 
sion  of  grief  she  throws  herself  on  her  knees  before 
the  altar,  and  fi?ially  falls  prostrate.} 
[Enter  Anne  (R).] 

ANNE. 
My  Lady ! 

BEATRICE. 

Give  me  your  arm. 

[Supported  by  Anne  she  rises  and  sinks  into  a  chair.] 
A  little  wine. 

ANNE. 
[Pouring  the  wine.} 

What  ails  my  Lady?  Shall  I  fetch  a  leech? 

BEATRICE. 

Nay,  nay,  no  leech ;  'tis  but  a  dream  that's  broken ; 
For  some  of  us  have  dreams,  dreams  that  we  shape 
Of  heart's  desire,  and  fashion  tenderly 
Of  hope  and  high  ambition  and  pure  faith. 
Yet  dreams  are  full  of  sorrow,  mark  you  that 
And  rest  content  with  the  dull,  waking  world. 

[She  rouses  herself  and  looks  attentively  at  Anne.] 
66 


'Tis  well  for  you  that  you  fixed  not  your  heart 
Upon  some  shining  mark  you  found  too  high 
For  your  attainment,  or  flung  down  your  love 
At  some  man's  feet  for  him  to  trample  on, 
Heeded  his  words  or  thought  his  promises 
Would  bind  him  longer  than  his  fancy  pleased ; 
So  you  are  not  heart-stricken,  desolate 
But— 

[Anne,    whose   emotion    has    been   increasing   throughout 
Beatrice's  speech,  bursts  into  tears.] 

Weeping  Anne?  Is  no  one  without  sorrow*? 
Tell  me !  Mayhap  your  ^grief  may  yet  be  cured. 
What  is  it*?  A  trinket  lost*?  or  a  kiss  stolen 
In  the  passage  by  a  bearded  man-at-arms? 

ANNE. 

Nay,  there's  no  man-at-arms  nor  page,  my  Lady ! 
No  groom  nor  porter,  no,  nor  veriest  scullion, 
That  would  so  meanly  serve  me  as — my  Lord ! 
Oh !  I  have  heard  him  eloquently  talk 
Of  Launcelot  and  Tristram  and  the  rest, 
And  say  that  all  true  knights  should  follow  them 
In  "cleaving  to  one  love" ;  and  so  he  came 
Full  of  sweet  vows  of  everlasting  love — 
And  I  am  fair  enough  for  him  to  love — 
How  should  I  know  they  were  as  false  as  Hell? 
His  promises,  his  knightly  promises ! 

BEATRICE. 
[Starting  up.] 

Hark  to  me,  Anne !  I  have  been  bitter  wronged, 
As  you  have,  too,  poor  girl,  by  one  I  loved, 
Honored  and  trusted  beyond  all  the  world. 
I  thought  once  that  I  was  above  all  grief, 
Chosen  and  set  apart  for  happiness, 
Yet  God  perceived  my  vanity,  and  God 
Doth  make  us  suffer  dearly  for  our  sin. — 
Yet  for  the  sin  of  others,  that,  methinks, 

6? 


We  need  not  suffer  tamely  nor  endure; 
And  I  will  not  endure  it — yet  my  love 
Cries  like  a  wild  thing  that  will  not  be  still. 
And  I  have  none  to  counsel  me,  save  God 
Distant  beyond  my  reach. — Yet  I  remember 
Something  the  Jester  told  me  of  a  trial, 
Where  God  decreed  forgiveness,  mercy. — Anne ! 
Fetch  me  two  candles  from  the  chapel,  two 
That  have  been  blessed,  one  white,  the  other  red. 

[Exit  Anne  (B).] 

[Beatrice  strikes  twice  on  the  gone/.] 

[Enter  a  Nubian  Mute  (R).] 

BEATRICE. 

Sirrah,  have  you  a  dagger  ?  Can  you  strike 
Swiftly  and  certainly4? 

[  The  Nubian  strides  to  the  table,  points  to  the  apple  beside 
the  dish  and  drives  his  dagger  through  it  with  such 
force  that  the  dagger  stands  quivering  in  the  table. 
As  Beatrice  nods  her  approval  he  plucks  it  out.} 

Then  look  you  there. 
Behind  that  curtain  lies  a  passageway 
That  leads  directly  to  the  castle  gate; 
Stand  at  the  foot  of  the  dark,  winding  steps, 
And  watch  until  I  summon  you  again. 
If  in  your  vigil  someone  comes  who  bears 
A  candle,  mark  the  color ;  if  'tis  red, 
Strike  suddenly  the  bearer  to  the  heart, 
I  care  not  whether  it  be  man  or  maid, 
Stranger  or  one  you  know ;  but  if  one  comes 
Who  carries  a  white  candle,  let  him  pass 
And  touch  him  not.  Take  heed  you  do  not  fail. 
If  a  red  candle  brings  not  certain  death 
To  one  who  carries  it,  then  you  shall  feel 
The  thumbscrew  and  the  rack.  Go ;  make  no  sound. 

[Exit  Nubian  (L).] 
[Enter  Anne  with  the  candles  (B).] 
68 


BEATRICE. 

Set  them  before  the  crucifix.  Enough. 
Tell  my  Lord  Geoffrey  I  would  see  him  here. 

[Exit  Anne  (£).] 

[Beatrice  stands  for  a  moment  looking  at  the  candles;  then 
she  changes  their  position  so  that  the  red  one  is  nearest 
the  passage.  She  kneels  and  prays ;  she  rises  and  seems 
on  the  point  of  changing  them  back  again,  when} 

[Enter  Geoffrey  (R).] 

You  called  me,  Beatrice? 

BEATRICE. 
[With  dignity.] 

My  Lord,  I  did. 

GEOFFREY. 

Pardon.  Your  Ladyship !  I  did  not  know 
That  you  were  "sir-ing"  me. — What  mood  is  this? 
Truly  methought  you  were  not  like  the  rest 
Shifting  and  changing  with  each  passing  breath, 
Now  laughing,  now  in  tears.  Nay  Beatrice, 
Your  heart  has  ever  been  a  place  of  peace, 
A  refuge,  a  retreat,  a  sanctuary, 
Where  I  might  come  to  seek  repose  and  strength, 
Sure  of  a  constant  welcome. 

BEATRICE. 

Good  my  Lord, 

A  woman's  heart  has  many  hidden  chambers ; 
It  may  be  that  my  Lord  has  never  been 
Beyond  the  ante-room. 

GEOFFREY. 
Then  I  would  go 

Freely  through  every  spacious  gallery, 
Learn  the  rich  furnishings  of  every  room, 

69 


The  treasures  of  each  alcove,  and  at  length 
By  silken,  hushed  and  winding  passages 
Come  to  the  inmost  shrine,  your  heart  of  hearts, 
And  in  that  place  of  worship  kneel  and  pray. 

BEATRICE. 

Why  then,  my  Lord,  it  would  not  be  amiss 
To  take  some  heed  to  come  with  a  pure  heart. 

GEOFFREY. 

"Come  with  a  pure  heart !"  'Tis  impossible ; 

I  am  no  marble  image  of  perfection. 

Think  you  a  man  goes  spotless  through  the  world? 

No,  I  come  stained  with  dirt  of  marketplace, 

Mire  of  the  highway,  blood  of  battlefield 

Where  I  have  bled  for  you,  my  Beatrice. 

BEATRICE. 
How  may  I  then  requite  you  for  your  wounds'? 

GEOFFREY. 

You  know  full  well,  my  Beatrice ;  give  to  me 
No  counsel  of  perfection,  but  your  love ; 
That  brings  me  absolution.  Let  your  love 
Wash  me  a  perfect  white,  and  keep  me  so. 
I  shall  not  falter,  Beatrice,  for  a  knight 
Cleaves  ever  to  one  love — 

[  The  Nubian  in  the  passage  accidentally  drops  the  dagger; 

a  ringing  clash  of  steel  is  heard.} 
[Beatrice  starts;  her  expression  hardens.} 
[Geoffrey,  who  is  on  one  knee  before  her,  springs  up  and 

draws  his  sword  A 


GEOFFREY. 

What  sound  was  that? 
70 


BEATRICE. 
[Laughing  nervously.] 

Some  novice  guardsman,  careless  of  his  pike, 
Or  courtier  overcome  with  wassailing. 

GEOFFREY. 

[Listening  for  a  moment  longer^  and  then  sheathing  his 
sword.] 

I  pray  you,  Beatrice,  let  your  perfect  love 

Give  me  an  arm  like  Arthur,  and  a  sword 

As  mighty  as"  the  great  Excalibur ; 

For  with  your  favor  on  mine  helm  I'd  ride 

Resistless  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre, 

Though  every  Turk  and  every  fiend  of  Hell 

Should  cross  my  path  to  stay  me ! 

BEATRICE. 

Good  my  Lord, 

Press  me  no  more.  Truly  I  cannot  say 
Whether  I  love  you ;  God  will  show  right  soon. 
A  woman's  heart  may  not  be  lightly  won 

[Aside.] 
Or  being  won  may  not  be  lightly  lost. 

GEOFFREY. 
[Half  angrily.] 

I  crave  your  pardon  that  I  dared  to  think 
That  you  might  love.  Have  you  no  more  to  say 
Before  I  bid  your  Ladyship  farewell  ? 

BEATRICE. 

This.  That  to-morrow  if  you  should  go  forth 
To  fight  the  Infidel — and  safe  return, 
You  find  a  warmer  welcome.  Rest  content 
My  Lord  with  that. 

71 


GEOFFREY. 
[Bowing  and  turning  to  leave.} 

You  shall  command  in  all. 

BEATRICE. 

[Stopping  him  with  a  gesture.} 
Go  not  that  way,  my  Lord,  but  privately 
By  mine  own  passage  to  the  castle  yard. 
But  it  is  dark  and  fearful !  Take  you  then 
One  of  those  candles  on  the  altar  there. 
Take  it  not  carelessly,  for  it  is  blessed, 
And  haply  may  be  fraught  with  deeper  meaning 
1  han  the  mere  lighting  of  a  passageway. 
Truly  it  might  portend  your  life  or  death. 

GEOFFREY. 
[Amused.} 

Why  since  a  candle  is  so  great  a  thing 
1 11  make  my  choice  with  due  solemnity. 
W  hite !  for  your  soul  as  pure  as  yonder  moon 
1  hat  makes  all  glorious  the  summer  night ; 
Red !  for  the  blood  that  pulses  in  your  cheeks 
And  tells  of  a  true  heart;  white  for  your  hands 
fashioned  for  naught  but  tender  cherishing, 
Red  for  the  warmth  of  your  unswerving  love 
Why  then  I'll  take— 

BEATRICE. 
[Greatly  agitated.} 

Geoffrey!  My  Lord! 
[Her  glance  falls  on  the  fruit  on  the  table.] 

T,  Some  fruit? 

1  o-morrow  you  will  have  no  dainty  fare. 

[In  her  excitement  she  offers  him  a  half  of  the  apple  cleft 
by  the  dagger.] 

72 


GEOFFREY. 

Grammercy,  Beatrice ;  but  I  have  supped. 
[He  turns  to  the  altar.} 

BEATRICE. 

[Almost  hysterical.} 

Stay  but  a  moment !  See,  the  goblet !  Come, 
Pledge  me  your  love  in  a  deep  draught  of  wine ! 

[She  fills  the  goblet  with  shaking  hands.} 

GEOFFREY. 

[Holding  it  high.} 

I  pledge  thee  mine  unwavering  constancy ! 
Thou  art  my  morning  and  my  evening  star, 
My  lasting  love  and  my  most  sure  salvation ! 

[He  drinks;  then  he  approaches  the  altar.} 
And  so  I  take  this  one,  red,  passion  red ! 

[Beatrice,  suppressing  a  scream,  stands  motionless.  Geof 
frey  bows,  kisses  her  hand  and  turns  to  leave,  bearing 
the  red  candle;  as  he  reaches  the  door  she  calls  him.} 

BEATRICE. 
Geoffrey ! 

[Geoffrey  puts  down  the  candle,  runs  to  her  and  embraces 
her  passionately.  For  a  time  they  stand  silent  in  the 
shaft  of  moonlight.} 

GEOFFREY. 

How  sweet  these  lips  are,  Beatrice ! 
I  have  no  words  to  tell  my  love,  nor  could 
The  eloquence  of  angels  give  the  sum. 

BEATRICE. 

Silence  is  better,  and  a  resting  here. 

73 


GEOFFREY. 

I  sought  you,  Beatrice,  as  the  knights  of  old 
Sought  for  the  Grail,  that  perfect,  holy  thing 
Worth  a  long  life  of  peril  and  of  pain, 
That  yet  to  those  who  found  it  could  not  give 
Such  healing  or  such  happiness  as  these. 

[Kissing  her.] 

BEATRICE. 

How  empty  seems  the  past  now,  and  how  strange ! 
How  did  I  spend  my  days  before  I  found 
This  love,  the  whole  of  life1? 

GEOFFREY. 

Your  hands,  beloved, 
Bestow  a  blessing  of  far  greater  worth 
Than  holiest  benediction  of  the  saints, 
Nor  from  the  gates  of  Paradise  itself, 
Opening  to  choiring  of  the  cherubim, 
Shines  such  a  splendor  as  from  these  dear  eyes ; 
Nor  in  the  realm  behind  those  glorious  gates 
Is  comfort  or  delight  as  deep  as  this. 

BEATRICE. 

Deeper  than  Heaven.  Have  you  loved  me  long? 
For  truly,  I  have  loved  since  time  began. 

GEOFFREY. 

Since  I  first  saw  you  in  the  garden  there, 
Crocus  and  daffodil  about  your  feet, 
Above  you  apple-blossoms  and  young  leaves 
Making  soft  shadows  on  your  hair,  and  you 
Fairer  than  all  the  spring. 

BEATRICE. 
As  a  flower  lies 
Through  the  long  winter  in  the  dark  and  cold 

74 


My  heart  lay  stifled,  until  like  the  spring 
You  came  and  kindled  it  to  life  and  love. 

GEOFFREY. 

If  I  have  come,  I  shall  not  pass  like  spring ; 
Nor  will  our  passion  live  a  summer's  length 
And  die  with  dying  foliage  in  the  fall ; 
No,  t'will  outlive  all  seasons  and  all  time, 
As  everlasting  as  the  holy  cross, 
As  steadfast  as  a  candle  ever  burning 
Before  the  image  of  a  saint. 

BEATRICE. 
[Starting  from  him.] 

The  candle ! 

[She  turns  and  gazes  at  the  red  candle  on  the  table,  as  the 
memory  of  her  grief  and  shame  comes  back  to  her. 
Then  she  turns  to  Geoffrey,  takes  a  ring  from  her 
finger  and  gives  it  to  him.] 

We  part  now  for  a  little ;  take  this  ring 
Cherish  and  guard  it  like  my  love  forever. 

[She  takes  the  red  candle  and  walks  to  the  door  of  the 
passageway;  then  she  turns.] 

And  if  perchance  in  some  far  future  time 
You  think  but  for  a  moment  of  this  hour, 
Remember  me  as  one  who  gave  her  heart 
Completely  to  a  perfect  love  and  faith. 

[Exit  Beatrice.] 

[Geoffrey  stands  looking  at  the  ring.  A  terrible  sound, 
half  shriek,  half  groan,  is  heard  in  the  passage. 
Geoffrey  draws  his  sword,  rushes  to  the  door  and 
pulls  apart  the  curtain;  he  stands  for  an  instant  as 
though  paralyzed.  Anne  appears  in  the  door  (B)  and 
the  Jester  (R).  Then  Geoffrey  disappears  down  the 
passage] 

CURTAIN. 
75 


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